Project Memory
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Naturally, when someone's mind has been force-fed an entire civilization's information databank, there are going to be side effects. Something's just a little off about McCoy. It's just little things, really. For now. Buried in the subconscious, something much larger lurks beneath, with terrifying implications.
1. Incidents

**A/N: Well, it's certainly been a few months for this fandom! How's everybody doing? I hope y'all are well.**

**This story picks up where Spock's Brain left off, and before anyone rolls their eyes over the episode I do want to point out that it left some juicy cans of worms open, one of which I will speculate on here. Namely, c'mon there've _got_ to be aftereffects to using the Teacher. While this story was planned to go in just one direction, as I've been writing I've realized that the door I've opened can lead to much bigger issues, and so this tale may evolve into a much bigger net of plot points and twists. You'll see what I mean later.**

**I, once again, do not own Star Trek. This goes for the whole story. Enjoy!**

* * *

I am a neuron.

I exist clustered in with my brothers and sisters. I never sleep. At times I am dormant, but most often I am excited. I feel electrical signals zipping through me, up the dendrite, down the axon, crossing the synaptic space as neurotransmitters to spread the word on to my kin. I am alive. I am one of many. I am critical.

I send my response back the way it came. _Down_ the vagus nerve, it goes, got to reach the source.

_Shin bone connected to the… knee bone._

My brothers and I are all excited. Lots is happening! We know inherently what is going on, yet our conscious association areas have yet to be informed. Somebody needs to go wake them up.

_Knee bone connected to the… thigh bone_.

Reds, yellows, greens, blues, how whimsical, since color is just an optical illusion. And besides, the actual brain all looks the same sickly green-grey, anyway. No scan can ever amount to this reality.

_So much green blood._

We are delicate. We are special. We are, together, the most important unit. I see your hypothalamus and raise you one medulla. Oh, it's a lot more than mere surgery in the skull, you see. My brain stem travels down further, back, spine.

_Thigh bone connected to the… hip bone._

And my nerves! A complete other system! So many connections, oh please get us right, I am excited to feel the signals zipping through me again, oh please, oh please, oh please.

_Child's play. A child could do it._

We encode your answer. These signals and bits of 'information' you call, we pass them back and forth like napkins at a dinner party. It's all locked in storage. But your conscious mind doesn't have the clearance.

Now, if you don't think about it, let go,. sleep…

_Hip bone connected to the… bone…_

_Bone._

_Bones._

_Bones! _

McCoy gasped awake, flailing instinctively. His arms collided with something, but it didn't budge. There were voices overhead, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, nor he could he pinpoint where they were coming from. The world was lost in motion-blur, and it took several long seconds for his confusion and rush to calm down, and the fuzzy blob overhead to solidify into the face of his friend, Jim Kirk.

"-ot you, okay? You with us, Bones?"

He gulped and nodded, still breathing hard, but relaxed back onto his bed. A moment later of blinking and frowning and he realized that he was in his quarters. What was Jim doing in here? And, Spock too, for that matter, there he was over by the door. The Vulcan was talking to someone, some _people_\- there was Nurse Radner and a security man by the door. They seemed to be concerned, and anxiously peeked his way.

McCoy turned his head back to Jim. He sluggishly ground his jaw to work. "Wh't's goin' on?"

Jim relaxed some, and finally released his hold on McCoy's shoulders- which McCoy was only noticing now. "Chapel called the bridge when you didn't show up for shift. We called down here and when we didn't get an answer we rushed over expecting an emergency."

"Didn't… up for shift- Jesus, Jim, what time is it?"

"1000, Doctor."

McCoy flailed again and surged out of bed. "_Ten hundred?!_ Holy cow- why didn't anyone wake me?" _Did I forget to set my alarm or something?_

"That, Doctor, is what we have done just now," Spock pointed out from his position by the door.

McCoy frantically went about the room gathering his uniform. He caught the small crowd still lingering by the entrance. "What are you all lookin' at? You've got somewhere to be, so be there!" he snapped.

With a jump everyone scurried off. Spock dismissed the remaining security guard. He stepped back from the door and it shut automatically.

Cursing in the sudden dim light, McCoy ordered them to be raised 50% and continued trying to gather up his things. "Blasted alarms- didn't mean to oversleep, Jim; sorry for the disturbance."

"It's fine, Bones," Kirk waved off. His brow knitted together. "We had trouble waking you up anyway- nightmare?"

"Hm?" McCoy dragged his medical tunic on over his head. "Oh, no, not a nightmare just…" What the heck _was_ it anyhow? "Just a really trippy dream," he finished.

"Dreams are rarely so vivid that they prevent one from waking two hours past their normal time," Spock mentioned.

McCoy shrugged. "Rarely doesn't mean never." He darted into the bathroom and quickly splashed water on his face. When he came out he looked clinically at Spock. "How are you holding up today? Memory alright? Fine motor skills okay?"

"I am in as perfect a condition as I was before the…" Spock paused. "Incident."

McCoy snorted at the term's shortcoming. "Well, I still want to see you in Sickbay at noon for that neuroscan. You can never be too careful with something like this. We don't want to find out that something's still off at the wrong time, wouldn't we?"

Spock seemed to suppress a sigh. "Doctor, I maintain that further tests are unnecessary. My memories are all intact. My thinking processes are unaffected. My mobility, balance, and physiological responses are all normal. Your tests are beginning to reach redundancy."

"Spock, your _brain_ was _removed_ and then _replaced_. Excuse me for wanting to make sure that _absolutely_ _everything_ is still hooked up right."

Spock opened his mouth, ready to argue otherwise, until Kirk stepped in smoothly. "Just humor him, Spock. He's right; we can't be too careful."

"Thank you. _Noon_, Mr. Spock," McCoy wagged a finger at him. "I've got to get to Sickbay."

Kirk pushed off the bed and caught his arm by the door. "And… Bones, today…?"

McCoy looked at him and held out his hands, palms up. "Total fluke. I don't know why I slept in that late. But I can promise it won't happen again, Captain."

Kirk nodded and released him. "Very well."

McCoy grinned. "Catch you later, Jim." He turned and then all but sprinted to Sickbay.

Kirk and Spock were left staring at each other in his vacated quarters. "Well, it's certainly unusual," Kirk said at last.

"Indeed," Spock looked contemplative. "The doctor has never done this before when he is not sick or recovering."

Kirk rubbed his jaw uneasily. "I agree." Yet with no other information at their disposal, what could they do? At last he shrugged. "Maybe McCoy's right, maybe it was just a fluke."

"Possibly," Spock echoed.

"Well, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. "We had better get back to the bridge ourselves."

Spock straightened, agreed, followed him out, and the matter was dismissed for another day.

* * *

The routine in Sickbay was a complex, precise machine of order and efficiency. It was by no means boring, but one could normally figure out where a staff member was and what they were doing based on the time of day. This was mildly disrupted in case of emergency, but that system merely collapsed and coalesced into a different one. The same was true with red alerts and performance while in battle.

Sometimes McCoy would exit his office and pause, just standing there in the doorway, watching his staff move about their jobs. He found a peace in that- knowing they were there, knowing he could count on them. It reassured him countless times and calmed his stressed nerves.

Not that anything had been too stressful, lately. Nurse Radner carried a tray of test tubes over there. Orderlies Carter and Hendricks were moving in the replacement lab equipment for cellular screening. It could see right down to the organelles without destroying the cell. Amazing. It would be much appreciated, too, as they would be able to get a quicker look at microbes running rife through someone's immune system. Radner's immune system was behaving well, despite that cold last month. Her nerves were sparking and electricity was traveling all down her system.

McCoy blinked, not fully aware yet. He looked around Sickbay again, but didn't recognize anybody. Large bundles of cells moved about. How complex- he watched the brain and nerves pass the signal of muscular threshold up and down the arm. The muscles responded to lift the equipment. The multicellular meat objects also opened their mouths and emitted noises by manipulating their larynxes. The air was then channeled and changed by their tongue and teeth. Nerves signaled the muscle of the tongue to move, and the mouth to clack up and down.

One meat object walked up to him and made more noises. What a fascinating process. It was amazing how it all came together. The squawking meat in front of him made more sounds, louder and closer together. Nerves sparked and an appendage rose up and gripped his shoulder.

Awareness slammed back into McCoy.

"Doctor? Are you okay? Did you hear a word I just said?"

He looked at Christine Chapel, blinking, and noting her creased brow. "Yes, Nurse. I'm sorry… I was apparently _really_ zoned out."

She nodded uneasily. "I'll say."

"What were you saying?" he asked, much more professionally.

"I was asking if you wanted to test the implementation of the new cellular scanner…" they trailed off, back to business.

* * *

While standard equipment performance reports had a tedious reputation, surely they couldn't be _this_ boring.

McCoy leaned back in his office chair, tapping the stylus against his PADD. Granted, he could dictate the report, but until he could think of what to say he preferred to brainstorm with pencil and paper.

Well. Digital template and stylus, at least. One could be forgiven of quaint old sayings when one was born outside of the correct technological time period.

Now, he wasn't some kind of Amish purist, McCoy mused, his mind wandering. The new cellular scanner, for which the blasted report needed to be on, was a world of wonders that would make doctors of past's mouths water. They tested it on various petri colonies of infections, viruses, and other foreign microbes attacking healthy tissue. The information and visualization responded beautifully. Of course, reports had to be much more thorough than that. When McCoy reported in-person to Jim he could be as brief as he wanted, but on paper (again, back to archaic recording materials) the relay had to be much more detailed.

Well, no since putting the darn thing off any longer. Maybe if he just started writing sentences inspiration would strike.

He looked down at the PADD, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

The previously blank page was now covered in some kind of foreign script.

* * *

McCoy kept his face perfectly schooled as he made his way onto the bridge. The familiar beeps and voices calmed him somewhat, but for this trip were just convenient background noises.

He walked over to Uhura's station and smiled. "Lieutenant."

"Dr. McCoy!" she greeted, swiveling to face him. Her wide smile showed off her pristine, white teeth. "How are things in Sickbay?"

"Oh, fine, they're just fine. That new scanner's going to be wonders of use, I can already tell."

"That's great."

"And how are you?"

"I'm fine as ever. Did Spock's star analysis bring you by the bridge?"

He hadn't heard anything about that. "Ah, no, actually I came to see you."

"Me?" Uhura seemed both surprised and pleased. "Well what can I do for you?"

Flicking one glance over towards Spock and the captain, McCoy drew out his PADD. "I was sifting through old medical articles in the computer Library when I stumbled across this- it seemed interesting enough, but I can't make out what it says. The translator was no help, either. If you have nothing else in your spare hours I wonder if you wouldn't mind taking a crack at deciphering this?"

Uhura took the PADD and peered at the page of scribbles. "That _is_ interesting," she mulled, chewing her lip. "I'll be happy to look at it for you, Doctor. Could you send it to my PADD?"

McCoy relaxed and grinned. "Of course. Thank you for doing this, Lieutenant."

She waved him off. "No need. I'm already excited to start breaking down this new language."

They chuckled and McCoy sent her the new document. "Well, I'm eager as well to know what it says, and why the computer couldn't decipher it."

"Well, _my_ computer is a bit more flexible in figuring things out," Uhura tapped her head. "Thank you, Doctor."

"No, Lieutenant, thank you," he replied earnestly.

McCoy turned to head off the bridge when Kirk turned around and called him over. Uhura watched him change course and head for his regular spot beside the big chair as the two started talking quietly. She smiled to herself, and swiveled back to her station.

Though, that script _was_ odd and especially unusual that the computer couldn't read it- despite it being in its Library. Deep down, she had a nagging feeling that the doctor was being less than truthful about its origin- but she was too excited about cracking it to pay that thought much mind, for now.

* * *

I have been activated.

No time to lose! I begin my journey at the source of stimulus- my receptor on the skin. Now it's a fun race to the top! I weave out of my bundle and rocket up nerve.

Excitedly, I navigate the incredible length. I follow the path throughout the body- I know exactly where I'm going. Do I need to stop at the spinal cord? Nope! It's straight to the top for me!

I twist and turn, navigating my way around the delicate vertebrae. Ah, yes, and this stretch would be the brainstem. No need to stop here, either- I'm going straight to central command.

I weave and wander up to the source. Yippee! Confirmation! And now to respond to the stimulus, so I have to start back down the road I came from. Okey-dokey, then, so I turn around and head back-

-except, ow, there's a big grey wall in the way.

"What in blue blazes?"

...

Scotty was working the night shift again. No, technically he wasn't supposed to, but his lads were loyal and wouldn't tell Captain Kirk.

He worked the nightshift whenever he needed something relaxing to keep him occupied, as rarely anything unusual happened. He enjoyed being at peace with the engines and a few of his good lads. To Scotty, that was the epitome of contentment.

So naturally, it was a bit odd when the doctor visited.

Scotty heard the doors opened and turned to greet whoever was entering, and was surprised to see Dr. McCoy walk in.

"Well! What brings ye by here so late at night, Doctair?" he spoke cordially.

McCoy did not seem to hear him, and instead moved right past him. Scotty frowned when he noticed that he wasn't even in uniform- just the black undershirt and sleeping trousers.

"Doctair?"

McCoy wove an odd path through engineering, and abruptly disappeared into Auxiliary. Confused, a little worried, and motioning some curious engineers over, Scotty approached the little room.

Just in time to see McCoy walk straight into a wall.

The doctor abruptly jerked and spluttered. "What in blue blazes?" he groused, rubbing his eyes.

Scotty stepped forward. "Dr. McCoy?" he called.

His head twisted towards him. "Scotty? Where am I? What am I doing here?" His breathing was elevated due to his disorientation.

"Ye're in Auxiliary Engineering, Doctair," Scotty informed, walking forward. "I think ye were sleepwalking."

McCoy blinked and looked around, calming down. "Sleepwalking?"

Scotty nodded. "Aye."

McCoy dragged a hand across his face. "Well, that would explain it," he mumbled tiredly.

"Are ye alright now? Ye took a hit into th'bulkhead."

"Yeah, Scotty, I'm fine. Sorry for disturbing you. I'll head back to my quarters- and this time lock myself inside." He ambled past, stifling a yawn and glaring at the small crowd of engineers.

"_Y'all_ are on duty- so get back to work!"

They jumped and scurried back to their posts. Scotty watched McCoy leave, still uneasy over the doctor's sudden bout of somnambulism. He seemed alright when he left…

Ach. He'll still let the captain know in the morning.

* * *

The bridge was quiet. Spock held the conn as Kirk opted to visit Sickbay for a moment. Used to the routine, the Vulcan silently observed the screen and filled out reports from the chair.

On the hour, Spock rose and slowly worked his way around the circumference of the work stations, observing everyone's duties. He was always unobtrusive in this; he would make sure everyone was working and then move on.

When he came to Lt. Uhura's station she was bent over a PADD chewing a stylus while algorithmic ciphers scrolled across a readout on her station.

"Ship's business?" Spock questioned.

Startled, she looked up at him and smiled. "Just a little project for the down time."

"Learning yet another language," Spock commented serenely.

Uhura tilted her head. "Kind of. It's more of deciphering one. Someone asked if I could crack this script for them."

Spock nodded. "May I see the writing?"

Grinning, as she was quite familiar with his insatiable curiosity, she pulled up the original page and handed the PADD to Spock. She leaned back in her chair, expecting to see that eyebrow rise and a "Fascinating" to escape.

She did not expect Spock to grip the PADD and freeze.

"Where did you get this, Lieutenant?" he asked curtly.

She frowned. "From Dr. McCoy. I have a few words figured out- it seems to be a medically based text, at least, though there are a few ambiguities-"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Spock interrupted. He handed back the PADD after keying in some directions.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," he ordered briskly. Without looking back, he swept off into the turbolift, headed for Sickbay.

* * *

"I don't know, Jim, maybe it's a magic spell."

Despite his intention to be serious, Kirk chuckled. Somehow McCoy's dry, colorful comments always put the other at ease.

He'd come to Sickbay a couple hours after Scotty informed him of the incident the night before. Kirk didn't like the growing oddities in McCoy's behavior. Over the past several weeks there were strange little incidents like that, and the doctor often seemed lost in thought, to the point of vacant mutterings. None if happened often, but the fact that it was happening at all was cause for concern. It was like the doctor wasn't quite himself.

Kirk didn't want to lose him.

"Really, though," Kirk continued after his chuckles subsided. "Are you doing alright? Everything okay?"

McCoy shrugged. "Seems to be from this end. Ship's fine. We're all alive. We're all _sane_ so far as I can tell, minus the fact that we've voluntarily chosen to live in a tiny piece of tin hurtling through space. I don't see any cause for concern."

"I get the context," Kirk said. "But I'm concerned about you."

McCoy sighed. "Jim, other than a few sleeping oddities, I'm fine. My mind tends to wander a lot, but we haven't been very busy since that last mission, so I don't worry about it. Everything's okay, really."

Kirk narrowed his eyes. McCoy was an expert in subversion, but he'd known him for a long time. "You're hiding something else."

"Jim, I've already told you-"

"Told me nothing, really. Just that there's no cause. That doesn't explain why there are symptoms."

McCoy threw up his hands. "If you're going to play doctor now, then I'm going to head to the bridge." He started walking to his office.

Kirk followed him. "It's just unusual for you. I want to make sure it won't get worse."

McCoy grunted and crossed to his desk. "Well, if we don't know what's causing it, it's hard to tell if it'll get worse, huh?"

"So you admit that something's wrong," Kirk pointed out.

"I'm _saying-_" McCoy broke off with an exasperated sigh. He looked around the office, then looked back at Kirk.

"Okay, Jim. Maybe there are a few slips. But I'm not old enough to be going senile yet. If this is just a phase where I'm off my game for a little bit, then I'm going to let it run its course."

"And if it's _not_ just a phase?" Kirk pushed.

McCoy shrugged. "Then we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Kirk rocked back slowly on his heels, nodding. "Well… alright."

McCoy quirked a grin. "Now get outta here, Jim, I got the work to do! And so do you, up in the big chair."

Kirk grinned. "Alright. Later, Bones."

He started to exit the office, but caught McCoy's slightly confused look overcoming his fading smile.

"Who's Bones?"

* * *

**Well? What do y'all think so far? Have I caught your interest?**


	2. Information

**A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you for all those reviews! Wow! It feels like a warm welcome-home gift :) Thanks! Not to keep anybody waiting too long, here's chapter two! The next couple chapters, just as a heads-up, may be a bit longer in coming. I've got prom this weekend, plus work, and school's extra busy with finals rolling up (urgh). I'll write when I can, but it may not be as speedy an update as this one.**

**I hope y'all enjoy it!**

* * *

Kirk caught the doctor's shoulders and slammed him up against the wall. "Who are you?" he growled. "What's going on here?!"

"Jim! Stop! What the hell are you doing?" McCoy squirmed in the hold, and looked at Kirk like he'd just gone crazy.

"Something's not right here!"

"_I'll_ say," McCoy snapped back. "What's gotten into you?"

"What happened on the planet Neural?" Kirk demanded.

"What's that got to do with any-"

"_What happened?!_" Kirk shook him.

"You got poisoned by a _mugato_!" McCoy blurted, batting Jim's arms to stop the shaking. It stopped. "Blasted poisonous white gorilla nipped you and that up-to-no-good Nona gal somehow cured you. I'm _still_ not sure how she got a plant to move like she did."

"And how did you get Eleen of Capella IV to let you touch her?"

"I slapped her."

"What happened at Spock's _pon farr_?"

"I faked your death."

"And who is Bones?"

"I am!"

Kirk released McCoy and stepped back, alertly taking stock of the confrontation. McCoy straightened his tunic and glared at him suspiciously. Both of them were breathing hard.

Kirk finally broke the silence. "So was it another lapse, Bones?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," the doctor groused indignantly.

"I called you 'Bones' and you said 'who's Bones' just a minute ago, now don't tell me you don't remember that!" Kirk snapped.

"Well, what do you want me to say, Jim?" rebutted McCoy. "That I'm being possessed? That I'm losing my mind? Hell, maybe it _is_ a magic spell after all!" He tossed his hands up and stalked back over to his desk.

"So again, you _admit_ that something's wrong-"

The door to the office swished open. Both men turned and saw Spock enter, moving urgently. He stopped before the desk and took the time to assume formal control, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Dr. McCoy, I must discuss a matter of disturbance with you."

"Oh, _not_ you too, Spock!"

Spock blinked, and turned to Kirk. "What is it?" the captain said.

"Lt. Uhura is deciphering a script given to her by the doctor," Spock replied. "The script is not known by the computer, yet I recognized several of the symbols. Not all of them, but enough to determine the language's origin." Spock turned his severe gaze to McCoy, who was trying to avoid the gaze but failing. "The writing is the same as the figures we saw on Sigma Draconis VII."

Kirk's brow tightened as he frowned. "Bones, did you record any of those symbols from the Eymorg complex?"

"Captain," Spock said quietly, before McCoy could reply. "There were not enough words in that complex to solely account for the extensive writing of the document."

As Kirk worked through Spock's sentence and the meaning sank in, both slowly turned to McCoy. He had both hands planted on the desk and was looking down, in deep concentration.

"Bones?" Kirk began quietly. "Do you have an explanation for why you can suddenly write in another language nobody here should know?"

McCoy's head jerked up. For once, his surly resolve wavered. "The lapses haven't been… empty," he murmured hastily. "But what does that matter? Spock was the Controller down there and he's fine!"

"Doctor, while I am gratified that you finally admit my good health, I must point out that you and I had different experiences while down on the planet. I never wore the Teacher."

McCoy's eyes widened. Silence befell the room.

Kirk was the one who broke it. "Could that be it, Bones?" he murmured, enlightened. "Could this be because you're retaining something?"

McCoy sank down into his chair. "I, I don't know." He swallowed. "But it would explain why I keep seeing brains and nerves everywhere."

"Doctor, I believe a neuroscan is in order." Spock made sure to meet McCoy's eyes. "Only this time, for _you_."

* * *

The machines for brain scans in the 23rd century had merely become sleeker, not smaller. McCoy grumbled as the table retracted inside, and Kirk and Spock walked out of the room to view the feeds coming in from the scan.

"Now just try to relax, Bones," Kirk spoke through the intercom. A huff came from the other end.

Spock pulled up the feeds and deftly navigated the images the scans were producing. He paid particular attention to brain activity, comparing it to normal scans of Dr. McCoy's profile.

"They look the same," Kirk mused, leaning over Spock's shoulder.

"Indeed," he replied. "It could be possible that any abnormalities occur only under specific circumstances."

Kirk nodded. He punched the intercom. "Hey, Bones, what are you normally doing whenever you have a… lapse?"

"_How should I know? Normal stuff. Nothing special. It can be boring, even_."

"Hmm." Kirk chewed his lip. "Maybe it wouldn't show up on a scan?"

"That is also possible," Spock admitted.

McCoy, for his part, tried not to shift in agitation. He tapped his fingers, though, for there wasn't much for him to _do_ just lying there getting his brain scan. And how had that happened, anyway? One moment he and Jim are talking. The next, Jim attacks him. Then Spock comes in and knows about his weird scrawl. And now he's getting his brain scanned. He didn't have mental problems. Or maybe he was just in denial. After all, the evidence was getting harder and harder to ignore. Or hide.

Sighing, and with nothing else to do, he let his mind wander.

"Jim," Spock said suddenly. "Look."

Kirk turned around to the screen monitoring brain activity. His eyes widened. Yellow color was blossoming on the image of McCoy's brain, spreading rapidly throughout most of it. The color grew darker as it bloomed, and puffed up like a cloud.

"What is that?" he asked.

"A very large surge of activity," Spock answered. He narrowed his eyes. "Yet it is behaving most unusually."

Kirk turned on the intercom. "Bones, what are you thinking about?"

There was a pause, and suddenly the colorful bloom rapidly vanished. "_Hm? Oh, nothing, really. Just kinda let my mind wander there for a moment."_

Kirk and Spock looked at each other.

"Holy cow," Kirk said.

* * *

McCoy crossed his arms, trying not to betray his nervousness. He was highly adept at hiding his emotions with a well-placed scowl. As it was, the doctor part of him understood full and well what Jim and Spock were saying to him.

It was exciting and frightening at the same time.

"So I do retain the information," he summed bluntly.

Spock nodded smoothly, lacing his fingers. "It would appear so."

"Just not consciously."

"The knowledge seems to have shifted into your long-term memory, and sometimes interrupts other memories, yet is only activated by the subconscious. This would explain why you cannot actively recall it, yet it makes itself known during unconscious and subconscious moments."

"Like sleeping," Kirk said. "Or daydreaming."

McCoy nodded tiredly. "Makes sense."

"Do you think this will affect your work?" Kirk asked.

McCoy looked up, and a glint appeared in his eye. "It shouldn't, in fact, Jim, isn't this what we wanted? I mean, I retain the information! Think how that medical knowledge can help!"

"Doctor, you do not actively remember it-" Spock began.

McCoy tapped the side of his head. "But it's still in here somewhere. It's accessible under the right circumstances. What if we do a mind meld, Mr. Spock? Or hypnosis, or, heck, there are dozens of ways to unlock it! Think of what I could _change_."

Kirk and Spock exchanged looks. "I don't know what the consequences would be, Bones," Kirk cautioned.

"Then we find out beforehand!" McCoy looked pleadingly between them. "Can Spock at least peek?"

They evaluated the situation. Spock lifted an eyebrow and looked at Kirk, signaling that he found nothing wrong with it.

"Very well," Kirk said. "Let's at least get it over with."

* * *

Uhura suppressed a shout of triumph. _There_. The scribbles before her finally collapsed and coalesced into coherence. Eagerly, she started scrolling through the page of writing, excited to know what it said.

Well, this was… odd. And highly technical. She frowned as she read further. The first portion of the document seemed devoted to medical procedures, but the rest seemed to describe some kind of device.

"Whatcha lookin' at, lassie?"

Uhura looked up to see Mr. Scott standing there. "I'm not quite sure," she answered. "It's like part of a long stream of information."

That certainly piqued the engineer's interest. "Ye mind if I take a look at it?"

"Not at all," she grinned. "You may understand the techie parts better than I can."

"Thank ye!" He perused the document, and his eyes seemed to war between widening in amazement and narrowing in concentration.

"Well this- this is bloody impossible… no, wait, that right there compensates for the… oh, that's a genius design- what? How could that possibly… oh, I see! Why didn't I think of that? This is sheer brilliance, lassie, where'd ye get it?"

"From Dr. McCoy," she answered. "He asked me to decipher the language of that document for him- though it's becoming _very_ popular."

"I ken see why," Scotty commented, awed. "I dinnae know exactly how the doctair got his hands on this, but a lot of th'paper is describing some kind of self-sustaining power generator. Its intent seems t'be as a backup in case main power to some medical machines fail, but it's so revolutionary in its construction that, well, I want t'shake the hand of whoever invented this!"

Uhura's eyes widened at his declaration. "It's that good, Scotty?"

"Aye!" he replied sincerely.

Uhura tapped her stylus against her lips. The more she worked on the document, the more mysterious it became. First McCoy, then Spock, now Scotty…

"I think we need to go speak with Dr. McCoy," she said, rising.

* * *

In the conference room, Spock and McCoy faced each other.

"I'm ready when you are," McCoy asserted.

Spock lifted an eyebrow at his eagerness, but did not deign to comment. From the side, Kirk watched the proceedings.

Gently, Spock placed his fingers over the meld points. "Relax your mind, Doctor," he instructed softly. "Let your thoughts flow like water."

McCoy quipped something about Vulcan poetry under his breath.

For several minutes, things were silent. Kirk continued to observe the meld, as if he could somehow monitor what was taking place inside their heads. Not much actual productivity, but it gave him a sense of accomplishment.

McCoy's shoulders drooped as he relaxed. He even closed his eyes.

A moment later, Spock gasped.

The huge, sucking in of air physically startled Kirk and for a wild moment of panic he thought Spock couldn't breathe. The Vulcan let go of McCoy's face and rocked violently backwards in his chair, chest heaving. Kirk rushed over and gripped his shoulders.

"Spock! What's wrong? What happened?"

The science officer held up a finger, imploring Kirk to wait while he collected himself. Spock quickly returned to his cool state, albeit blinking a lot.

McCoy had opened his eyes and watched the scene in concern.

"I am well," Spock finally said. The two humans relaxed.

"What was all that about?" Kirk asked.

"Did you see something?" McCoy leaned in.

Spock tilted his head. "In a sense." He steepled his fingers and crossed his legs. Both noticed the fine tremor running through him when he did so. "The amount of information is… certainly more than I expected. When I succeeded in connecting with it, it was… _quite_ vast."

"And all that was medical?" Kirk inquired.

"No," Spock said firmly. "From what I could make out, it extends through many subjects."

McCoy nodded, rubbing his knees. "Makes sense. I mean, there was no way for the Teacher to pick and choose what it related."

"Indeed," Spock rasped.

Kirk grew worried again, but McCoy quirked a sympathetic grin towards Spock. "Kinda like getting blasted by a firehose on both sides, innit?"

"Doctor, while I find your propensity to use outdated technological references as current analogies astounding, your colloquial description is not inaccurate."

McCoy turned to Jim. "Didja see that? He just said I'm right."

"Did you get anything concrete, Spock?" Kirk steered the subject back on track.

"I regret to say that I did not," he replied. "The… intensity of the packed information was overwhelming."

McCoy crossed his arms. "Huh. Then maybe it's a good thing I can't think about it."

"Yes."

Kirk started to pace. "So what do we do now? We've got an entire advanced civilization's technology right in our hands but we can't access it?"

The door buzzed before sliding open to reveal Scotty and Uhura. "Sorry t'interrupt," Scotty apologized. "But it's the most fascinatin' of designs!"

"What?" Kirk said, confused.

Uhura stepped forward, smiling shyly on Scotty's behalf. "Sorry, Captain. He's a little excited. I've finished deciphering that document Dr. McCoy had me look at, and it contains very revolutionary-"

"It's a _self-sustaining power generator!_" Scotty crowed.

"-yes. Mr. Spock, I know that you were also interested, and I figured both you would want to see what the paper actually says." She handed them the PADD. "Are you sure you got this from the computer Library?" she inquired McCoy.

Everyone looked at him. "Ah," McCoy began. "I think we can safely say _no_."

* * *

Kirk wandered the ship in the late evening. It'd been a very complicated day. And he had the sinking feeling that what they'd learned had graver consequences than they originally thought.

He knew he was right when Spock requested to visit him in his quarters. Not wishing to have such a discussion in his own room (he preferred to keep that space private and personal, and to conduct anything relating to ship's business elsewhere) he elected to meet Spock in the Vulcan's quarters.

He had a feeling he knew what was going to be brought up.

Kirk buzzed the door and stepped inside. Spock rose and greeted him.

"Mr. Spock. You have a concern about today you would like to address?"

"Effectively, Captain," he replied.

"Well, what is it?"

Spock walked near him, both eyebrows drawn together. "For all his good intentions," Spock began. "I do not feel it would be wise to continue trying to access the Teacher's knowledge in the doctor's mind."

"And your reasoning behind that?" Kirk prodded.

Uncharacteristically, Spock hesitated. "The implications of such knowledge are equally disturbing as they are beneficial. More importantly, I address the obvious concern should this knowledge fall in the wrong hands."

"Like Scotty's self-sustaining generator," Kirk added.

"Captain. That is but a small speck in the technological advancements housed in McCoy's mind. There are much greater accomplishments, which bring much greater dangers should they be misused. While I cannot name exactly all I was inundated with, I bring you to the example of the Eymorg, and what they were able to do with the Teacher's information. Kara managed to fly a ship to us, incapacitate the entire crew, remove my brain, fly back to her planet, and install me as the Controller all within the three hours the information lasted."

There it was. Kirk nodded gravely. A large weight was slowly settling on his shoulders. "That same information on how to pull that off resides in Bones. And much more."

"Precisely. Jim, if word got out about what the doctor knows, consciously or not," again Spock hesitated, before driving forward firmly.

"I greatly fear what would become of him."


	3. Intrigue

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Wow! I've finally got the third chapter written, and next week I should have time to write provided school doesn't surprise me with loads of homework (part of the delay in this chapter- I'm getting all my final essays done early). Enjoy!**

* * *

"I hate these things," McCoy grumbled.

"More than transporters?" Kirk quipped from the bathroom.

"Damn close." McCoy smoothed out the front of his dress uniform and growled. "There's a difference between form-fittin' an' _skin tight._"

He only got a chuckle in response.

"Tell me: why is it the brass demand such gussied-up displays when they're bein' escorted somewhere, but not when they're on business?"

"I don't know, Bones, but if you're escorted somewhere then you can make the crew where dress uniforms for a change."

McCoy put a hand on his heart. "Glory, Jim, I thought you knew me better than that. I would never wish such a torture on another sentient being."

Kirk laughed again and retreated from the bathroom, straightening his tunic. "It's only for the evening Bones. It'll be fine."

The doctor quirked up a skeptical eyebrow. " 'Fine', Jim? I wasn't aware that you were taking the news of having to transport 10 admirals so well."

Kirk tried to shrug it off. "It's not like anybody's going to take over the ship. And if anything bad happens, their first priority is their own safety, in this case. Not to try and handle it."

"Which is translated to: while they're harping with each other over who should take command, you'll be commandin."

Kirk grinned. "That's one way to put it."

McCoy chuckled as they exited Kirk's quarters and started walking to the transporter room. It'd been a week since the doctor's neuroscan and the _Enterprise_ was due to transport some admirals over to a conference for what McCoy called "pompous paper-pushing". Namely, to debate over some issue within Starfleet. It happened all the time, and Kirk was ready for a smooth, easy mission.

The admirals were beaming over from the starbase the _Enterprise_ had stopped at before being carried to Minerva IV. The trip should take no more than two nights, and so the first evening would consist of a fine dinner, as the last night would require the admirals' to prepare for their conference.

The two entered the transporter room where the other officers stood in full dress uniform. Scotty stood behind the transporter console, and proudly wore his kilt ensemble for the occasion.

"Are they ready, Scotty?" Kirk asked.

"Aye, sair. The base radioed in justa moment ago."

"Very well. Energize."

Scotty's hands moved deftly across the console. Slowly, golden figures started shimmering on the platform. They eventually solidified into uniforms and faces exemplifying prestige.

"Let the party begin," muttered McCoy.

* * *

Kirk had no love for admirals. Perhaps past experiences had soured his relationship with most of them, but he still privately found himself viewing them as desk jockeys and captain has-beens. He understood the importance of the rank in regards to Starfleet business, but they never saw any action, anymore. Admirals were protected by security and starbases.

And in this case, a starship.

However, there were a few friends he had in the upper ranks. Frank Joel was one of them.

"Still conquering danger and excitement?" the older man commented with a twinkle in his eye.

Kirk drew himself up and squared his shoulders with an impish grin. "All in the name of the Federation."

Admiral Joel chuckled. "Those are the days."

"You don't know what you're missing, Frank."

"Oh," the man corrected. "But I do."

They shared a knowing smile.

"So what's got you in the middle of this conference?" Kirk asked smoothly.

"Well, you know, you need enough heads to make a decision, whether it's deciding the extended boundaries of the Neutral Zone or whatever olives should be served at the _next_ conference," Joel sighed.

Kirk shrugged. "Smart people need to deliberate over everything."

Joel grunted. "A person is smart. People are stupid."

Kirk laughed. "It sounds like you and my CMO would get along just fine."

"Mm, smart man, then."

Kirk laughed harder, almost approaching hiccups. Joel looked at him, confused.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just… what with recent events that, that comment is ironically hilarious."

Joel raised an eyebrow. "Recent events?"

Kirk waved him off. "Just a little incident in the ship- nothing big, but it just struck my mind." He sealed the white lie with a winning James-Kirk smile. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

Joel wasn't one to be so easily snowed. He went along with the deflection, but quietly murmured to Kirk. "You know, I still owe you for that 'incident' in the O'Neils."

Kirk nodded. He appreciated the man's candidness as a card in his pocket.

"I know, Frank. I just hope I won't have to call you about that for a long, long time."

* * *

McCoy had seen a lot of dinner parties in his time. He'd been to more social conventions for more topics on more worlds than he could count. And every single one of them was more boring than a long-winded, slow-talking lawyer.

Well, no. There was that one conference on Ursa Cantor where the guest speaker punched the hotel owner for not serving alcohol.

He smirked at the memory. To be quite honest, he had thought about duking it out with the man himself. Alcohol was normally the only thing that got him through such hassles.

Such as with today. He poured himself a Saurian brandy and weaved through the room, determined to find some quiet table or corner for which to bear the evening..

Sighing, he settled down in a chair with his drink, ready to let the night pass before him. He was more than ready to get it over with.

He just needed a break, really…

"What was that, Doctor?"

McCoy snapped to attention and looked around before his face broke out into a wide grin. "I'll be. It's Ol' Joe Featherbrains."

The mustached man gave an embarrassed smile. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember that nickname."

McCoy chuckled. "I have a long memory, But if you don't like it I won't say it- wasn't the one who started that shtick in the first place."

Relaxing, Joe Fetterberns sat down. "That's great. How's the ship treating you? Knew you'd been a CMO, but wasn't sure where."

McCoy waved him off. "I'm fine, and the captain keeps me busy. But you! What about you? I didn't know you'd been promoted to an admiral in Starfleet Medical."

Fetterberns blushed. "Two months ago. This is my first big assignment. I'll admit to some nerves."

"That's natural," McCoy pointed out.

"Thanks." He shifted in his seat. "Though, your job sounds pretty interesting. I haven't heard of a nerve-grafter before."

"A what?" McCoy asked, puzzled.

Fetterberns blinked. "That's what I was asking you."

"About a nerve-grafter? I haven't heard of it."

The admiral seemed perplexed. "But, when I walked up just a moment ago you were holding your drink and muttering something about nerve-grafters and the mechanics involved."

McCoy groaned as he realized what probably happened. "Oh that. I'm sorry, Joe. Look, I really _don't_ know anything about nerve-grafters, or how to make one. It's just kinda- I got zapped about a month ago by an information databank- don't ask, it's a long story- and the residual knowledge sometimes spills out when I'm not thinking. I had no idea I was even talking."

"Oh, okay." Fetterberns still seemed confused by the entire exchange, but seemed to take the story in stride.

The sat in an awkward silence.

"So nerve-grafters," Fetterberns broke. "That would be interesting."

"It would, wouldn't it?" McCoy mused.

"I mean, we have bone-knitters, and the beginning developments of a musculo-fabricator-"

"We do?" McCoy asked, bewildered.

"Oops, ah, you kinda weren't supposed to know that," the admiral apologized. "It hasn't been approved yet."

McCoy waved him off. "It's alright, now we've both let things slip. But now maybe you can speculate on nerve-grafters and add that to your list of pending medical instruments."

"It would solve a lot of problems," Fetterberns agreed.

"Oh yeah."

They talked more about the hypothetical instrument, speculating on how it would work and becoming more excited as the brainstorming flowed. Neither of them noticed when the delightful evening wound down until Kirk approached them cordially with the polite news of the time. Brains buzzing, the two doctors adjourned to their separate quarters.

* * *

The rest of the mission (or delivery, as some crewmen called it) went off without a hitch, and all admirals were dropped safely off at their destination. Minerva IV seemed to be a lovely planet, and, as per captain's prerogative and convincing argument that a starship should linger around during the proceedings as extra protection for so much brass in one place, the _Enterprise_ succeeded in achieving shore leave. The crew flocked to the transporter room, anxious and excited for a lovely vacation.

Among them was one happy doctor.

Who was quickly become _pissed_.

"Whaddaya mean I can't go on shore leave?" McCoy ranted.

Kirk held up a placating hand. "Bones…"

"Oh, don't you 'Bones' me! Is this some kind of joke? I get to the transporter room for once on my own volition all prepared to spend the day takin' in the sights an' relaxin' in hotels only to find that the transporter operator has got 'specific orders not to let a one Dr. McCoy beam down'?! What am I on, probation?!"

Kirk and Spock watched as the doctor continued his tirade, waiting for him to wind down before interrupting. After shouting and pacing around Kirk's quarters for a good while, he finally seemed to be running out of steam.

Spock took a moment of pause to step forward. "Doctor, once you hear our reasoning, you will find that it was only logical to-"

"LOGICAL?" McCoy exploded, and he readdressed the problem with renewed vigor.

Kirk turned to Spock mournfully. "You had to say that, didn't you?"

After waiting another several minutes for another opening, they were graced with one when McCoy sat down in a huff.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Glory, Jim. Well, what are your reasons for canceling my vacation?"

Spock sat down across from the doctor and steepled his fingers. "In the strictest sense, Doctor, it is a matter of security," he began smoothly.

McCoy's eyebrows shot up. "Security," he repeated.

"Indeed. Due to the veritable store of advanced technological information housed in your mind, you are an appropriate target for any such individual, group, or party wishing to obtain that knowledge."

McCoy nodded slowly. "But nobody knows about that, right?"

"They should not," Spock acknowledged.

"But we can't be too careful," Kirk added.

"Yeah, you can," McCoy pointed out. "Jim, how often do I look forward to shore leave, anyway? Why deny me this?"

"Doctor, I believe we have just stated why-"

"So come with me!" he tossed his hands up. "Even with the information I'm certainly no less of a target than a starship captain. Cheese and biscuits, what do you two think would happen, anyway?"

"Anything, Bones," Kirk stated, sitting down next to Spock. "Someone could drug your drink."

"Or approach under a false pretense."

"Or jump you on the street."

"Or make use of a transporter."

"Or arrest you."

"Under what charge?"

"Disorderly behavior?"

"Appropriate."

"Thank you."

McCoy fell back against his seat incredulously. "I can't believe you two are sitting across the table from me discussing ways to kidnap me!"

"It pays to be prepared, Bones," Kirk offered helpfully.

McCoy held up a hand. "Fine. You know what? I submit that your worries are unnecessary and _illogical_. For one, your theory is only valid if it was public news that I have this knowledge- _which it isn't_. For another, if you're really concerned the security measures can still be met by beaming down with- dare I suggest it- a guard, who can mediate any potential threats. There are other ways to go about this than keeping me prisoner on the ship!"

Kirk and Spock looked at each other.

McCoy crossed his arms. "And it seems both you need a little fresh air yourselves. My offer still stands: come with me."

"But the ship-" Kirk protested.

"-will be fine for a couple days," McCoy finished. "Jim, there's already tons of security down on Minerva IV because of the Admiralty, and if _anyone's_ looking for trouble they'll be focused on the conference instead of little ol' me. And besides, this way you two mother hens get to keep an eye on me yourselves. Should that satisfy you?"

"The doctor makes some logical points," Spock reflected.

"See? Even Spock agrees. Finally," he added under his breath.

Kirk relented. "Okay. Mr. Spock? I believe we need to make the necessary bridge arrangements for us to take shore leave."

McCoy hopped up out of his chair, a grin finally returning to his face. "Excellent. Jim? First thing we're going to do is finally introduce Spock to a nightclub."

A half-pained half-panicked look quickly crossed the Vulcan's face. "Captain, I do not believe that-"

"Nope," Kirk interrupted, also grinning. "We agreed: next shore leave you would let McCoy and I take you to one. And since we're a security detail, there's no backing out."

Spock looked ready to protest more.

" 's'matter, Spock?" McCoy clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on his toes. "You're not illogically nervous or anything like that, are you?"

"No," Spock said, rather timidly.

"Good. Then let's go." Kirk placed a hand on both their backs and steered everyone out of his quarters.

* * *

Five days later, Kirk finally sat down in his own quarters with a groan. It'd been one heck of a shore leave. None of them had returned to ship once during its duration, electing to stay in a hotel instead. Now, with the conference hitting a long recess, the _Enterprise_ was given new orders to leave and let another ship take over watch. Shore leave wound down, and Kirk was finally able to see his own room again.

Not that he'd missed it, or anything. It'd been a _very_ entertaining shore leave. He was still trying to figure out if bringing Spock to a nightclub was something that would need to happen every shore leave, or never again.

He'd have to ask McCoy.

A content smile ghosting on his face, he paged the good doctor. A growl came from the other line "_What?_"

"Going to bed already?" Kirk asked, surprised.

"_I'm detoxing,_" replied the gravelly voice. "_So yes._"

True. Alcoholic detoxification was a pain to bear awake.

"_What didja want, Jim?_"

"I was just going to ask if you think we should bring Spock to nightclubs in the future," Kirk answered.

There was a grunt. "_Only if he agrees to the earmuffs next time_."

"Duly noted," Kirk grinned.

"_Anything else?_"

"No, that was all."

"_Well, then good-night, Jim_." The line clicked off with a groan.

Kirk sat in silence for a while, reminiscing over the past few days. He chuckled often at the memories. It'd been a great vacation. He was almost sorry they were heading out already.

He was about to get up and go to bed when his computer terminal started blinking. He had an incoming message, private line. Frowning, Kirk opened it.

Frank Joel was on the screen, and the first thing Kirk noticed was that he was breathing hard and looked slightly disheveled. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the urgent admiral.

"Kirk! You're leaving soon, right?" Joel affirmed quickly.

"Yes, later tonight. We're departing once all crew members are beamed back and accounted for-"

"Good. Get out to deep space soon as you can. Go mapping, or whatever Starfleet's told you to do. Clear out of crowded space for a while."

Kirk's frown deepened. "What's happening?"

Joel glanced around. "I'm transmitting this on break, and because you should know. Section 31 knows about McCoy."

At this, both of Kirk's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "How?" he demanded.

"I don't know how it started. One of the medical admirals was discussing ideas for some kind of instrument, and then some story spilled out involving McCoy, and the right people looked at the right files in the right way- I've seen the mission report myself, Kirk. Being exposed to an instant-information system is… people can put two-and-two together. But we've got 25 different admirals here, so naturally the secret perks some ears. But I overheard part of a conversation Admiral Cartwright had with Kesselring. They're interested. _Very_ interested."

Kirk took the news in stride, quickly breaking down the information. Kesselring was in charge of Section 31. The news had passed to him. He would know what to do about it.

"Thanks, Frank," he said curtly. "I'll make the necessary preparations." He met the other man's gaze on the screen. "You don't owe me anymore."

Joel shook his head. "That's not why I did this, but thanks. You keep an eye out, now." The transmission suddenly ended.

Tapping the table, Kirk rose. He couldn't sleep now. Section 31 was the equivalent of old-Earth's CIA.

And now it was looking at Bones.


	4. Investigation

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews! I hope I haven't delayed too long in updating; and I'm quite pleased with this chapter (though I probably shouldn't have written the last scene before going to bed- you'll see what I mean). There are numerous episodes referenced here so, outside of the obvious Spock's Brain, I'm going to cite them here: The Enterprise Incident, Court Martial, and Dagger of the Mind. If you see any others that I forgot, please let me know. Thanks, and enjoy! Feel free to review!**

* * *

Spock was grave as he strode through the halls to the bridge. Crewmen, even those less familiar with Vulcan countenance, picked up on it and let him pass without question. While normally the first officer merely conveyed a sense of cool detachment, there was something distinctly more serious in today's gait.

He turned the corner languidly, without slowing, and because there was no sharp twist of the heel one could tell that Spock wasn't agitated. He simply strode on, serious and somber, stepping up in his duty as the bearer of bad news.

The turbolift opened to the bridge and he glided it out, stepping down next to the big chair. Kirk swiveled to face him at the quietly spoken "captain."

Spock's face was grave. He handed Kirk the PADD.

"It has begun."

* * *

McCoy paced his office. "This is ridiculous."

"We both agree with you, Bones."

"I know. Still makes it ridiculous."

"It is nearly impossible for mere opinions to change a fact."

McCoy pointed wildly at the computer. "Then change this!"

And order had come down from Starfleet regarding crew transfers. Normally, this was not unusual, but the name of 'Dr. Leonard H. McCoy' at the top of the list set off alarm bells.

"They're gunning for him, Spock," Kirk had said grimly up on the bridge. "And this is just the first ploy."

Under normal circumstances, there would be nothing they could do to change a transfer order by Starfleet. However, it was McCoy's position that saved them.

"Doctor, if you recall your contract signed at the beginning of the mission, you are 'locked in' as it were, for the five-year duration. There is a specific clause that forbids the hapless transfer of senior officers on a starship due to the shifting command structure."

"You don't just replace the captain halfway through a mission on a starship just like you don't replace the CMO," Kirk commented.

"Precisely. It is only under very specific circumstances that senior crewmembers are transferred and replaced. It is either as a result of court martial, by expressed wishes of the officer in question (provided those wishes meet another set criteria) or in the event of death."

McCoy sat down hard in a chair. "Well, I don't want to leave. So the only thing I have to do is not get court martialed or killed." He rolled his eyes. "Which is _so_ easy on this ship."

"In actuality, Doctor," Spock said. "You would only need to make certain that you would not get court martialed. Your death would render the entire issue moot."

"Why you-"

"Okay," Kirk interrupted before the argument could go any further. "Mr. Spock, you and I have a vid meeting with the admiral who signed this in twenty minutes. I want to make sure we are adequately prepared to handle his questions and that our argument is strong."

"I shall review our preparations," Spock replied, rising. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

Kirk got up and walked over to where Bones was rubbing his face. "Bones, despite all this, you okay?"

McCoy dragged his hand away and looked at him. "Yeah, I'm okay. Still have those- lapses, or whatever you call it. And I can't help but feel if I just got them under control we wouldn't be in this mess. The kicker is I don't even know I'm having one until someone tells me."

Kirk nodded sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder. "If it's any consolation, it wasn't entirely the lapses that tipped off Starfleet. Joel said they looked at the mission report- and I _had_ reported about the Teacher."

McCoy grunted. "And the Teacher's knowledge supposedly wore off after 3 hours. Guess that works for the Eymorg, but not for humans. Not quite."

Kirk redirected the subject. "How are you sleeping?"

"'Bout the same. Some really weird dreams that would make my brain dizzy save for the fact that they're _dreams_. I haven't sleepwalked again." McCoy paused and chewed his lip uncertainly.

"What is it?" Kirk prodded.

McCoy flicked his blue eyes up at him. "Just little things. Remember how I forgot what my nickname was once? Just- tidbits like that. One day I could not figure out when my birthday was, no matter how hard I tried. I looked it up in my file and it still didn't _feel_ like that was my birthday- and then the next day I was fine. And then another time I walked into Sickbay without my boots. I just forgot to put them on that day. Jim, who forgets that? Much more and my staff will think I'm going senile!"

"Spock did say that the information would disrupt some other conscious areas."

"I know," McCoy sighed. "And it never happens again. It, it feels like it's _settling_, ya know? Like it's shifting around trying to find enough room to lie down."

Kirk nodded. "And once it settles your other symptoms might disappear?"

McCoy shrugged and spread his hands. "Hopefully." He tapped his fingers on his knee.

"Something else?" Kirk picked up instantly.

McCoy hesitated. "Not, not directly related with the information, no," he began. He pressed his lips together before continuing. "People are after information that's in my head," he admitted. "And that's a very uncomfortable position I'd hoped to never be in again."

Kirk nodded, understanding. "They'll drop it soon, Bones, if they have any sense."

McCoy snorted. "This is the Admiralty. Sense is what they're lacking."

Kirk chuckled, and he hoped the humor helped relax Bones. "Well, I've got to go deal with one of those admirals. We'll let you know how it goes."

"Are you sure you don't need me?" McCoy confirmed.

"Not now. Between Spock and I it should be easy to handle. Besides, the game's only begun and so far everyone's avoiding the elephant in the room. As long as it stays that way," his sentence finished in muttering: "it won't get too messy."

* * *

Another mission came and went, this one a bit more hazardous than normal. After its successful close, finally dropping off that blasted cloaking device and picking up a few new crewmen, another week passed before the McCoy issue arose again.

This time, Starfleet was a lot more direct in its point.

Kirk's face was hard. "I won't hear of this."

"Yes, you will," the admiral replied. It was always some other admiral- Kesselring had yet to show his face. "Kirk, this doesn't just concern you anymore."

"It was never just me. It was always about McCoy." His voice tightened. "Though I'm beginning to doubt that any _concern_ expressed towards him was genuine."

The admiral sighed. "We're not the bad guys, Kirk. We _are_ trying to do what's best for the doctor."

"And labeling him as a security risk is going to accomplish that?" Kirk said bluntly.

"Jim, you know as much as I do that it's true. Your starship has had several run-ins with hostile forces and enemies that would benefit from that information. What if he gets put in a Klingon mind-sifter? What then?"

"Then I'll say we'll have larger things to worry about than what they might find," he replied dryly.

"I'm talking about in the long-run. Just look at your last mission! You tangled with Romulans, Kirk. At one point the doctor was _on a Bird-of-Prey_. We have Vulcans for mind-melds, and who knows if Romulans have that same ability? McCoy was literally in their clutches."

"And so were the captain and first officer of the Federation's flagship," Kirk answered. "Admiral, I fail to see how the information makes McCoy such a threat- if anything it just equalizes his importance to that of mine. And even _if_ an empire learned of what's in McCoy's mind there are easier ways to obtain that information than kidnapping him and risking war with the Federation- they could fly to Sigma Draconis VII and wear the Teacher themselves, for instance." He leaned forward. "Which is what anyone else could do, here."

The admiral dragged a hand across his face. "The Prime Directive-"

"Was absolved. Wasn't it?" Kirk grew alert at the possible change.

"In your case. Since the Eymorg initiated the contact, and absconded with… part of your own, you were found to be within your rights to pursue, investigate, and reclaim from the society what was lost. However, due to their peculiar sociocultural regression, further contact is forbidden."

"I'm confused," Kirk admitted.

"It's a special scenario. With the Teacher's knowledge, the Eymorg disqualify for the Prime Directive. Without it, the Prime Directive must be observed in full. You were contacted in the former circumstance. Therefore, the Prime Directive did not apply to your following actions. Any other contacts, initiated by _us_, would violate the Prime Directive, since the Morg and Eymorg currently fall beneath the required advancement levels. Understand?"

"Yes," Kirk replied. It was unnecessarily confusing, but he got it.

"Good. So this is why McCoy's knowledge is so much more valuable. There _won't_ be another opportunity."

Kirk's resolve hardened again. "But I should hope that in its eagerness to see that knowledge the Federation does not forget itself," he said icily. "Starfleet should not be so opportunistic that it would violate a member's right to privacy and sanctity of mind."

The admiral blinked.

"McCoy is no more of a security threat should he fall into the wrong hands than any other starship captain," Kirk argued. "Therefore, there is no need to transfer him or otherwise remove him of his post. We will be happy to turn over and develop any details that may trickle out of his consciousness, but that is the most anyone is ever going to see, including McCoy. Tell Kesselring that he's worrying for nothing." Kirk snapped the channel closed, watching the admiral's surprised face vanish into a black screen.

Take that.

* * *

McCoy walked into his quarters late one evening. He was moderately tired. He would check to see if he had any notices sent down from Uhura, and then likely go straight to bed. It'd been a long shift.

He mozied around his quarters for a while putting things away, before he realized that his computer was on. He frowned. Surely he hadn't left it on? No, he couldn't have; he rarely used the terminal in his room.

His brow creasing, he walked over and looked at it. A single file was pulled up on the screen. Bending down, his stomach clenched when he realized it was his personal contact information from his Starfleet file. He glanced at the top. No, someone hadn't pulled it up on this computer- someone had sent it to him.

But who?

He looked at the information on the file. It had his old Earth address, his private call number, his emergency contacts, his next of kin… everything.

Unease and foreboding crawling up his back, McCoy switched off the terminal.

* * *

"Jim, I don't like this," McCoy confessed.

"None of us like it," Kirk muttered darkly. Spock nodded in agreement.

"If it was just about me I'd be fine. I can handle that." The doctor took in a deep breath. "But after seeing that file… I'm worried they'll try and target Joanna. Or anyone else who's close to me."

"If they do try, Doctor," Spock stepped in. "That would be blackmail, and we would most assuredly have a court case in our favor."

"If they try any sort method along those lines, Bones, we'll have them," Kirk assured. "I've already contacted Cogley and briefed him on the general problems. If anyone steps out of line they'll be in court faster than you can say 'warp 9'."

McCoy smiled tightly, thankful for his friends' efforts. "I appreciate that. Doesn't stop me from worrying about it, though."

"A parent will naturally worry over his or her child," Spock replied.

McCoy grinned wider. "Thanks." His face fell and he sat down heavily. "I wish I didn't retain any of this," he muttered.

"It's not your fault," Kirk broached.

"I know. Jim, I was so excited. All I could think about were medical advancements. And now? It seems all anyone else can think about is how it will provide an edge over one's enemies." He scrubbed at his face. "Just wish there was some way to erase it. Permanently."

"Induced amnesia is not very viable for the extent and location of the Teacher's knowledge," Spock observed.

"I know. I'd considered it, but came to that same conclusion. I figure surely there must be other ways? It's not impossible- maybe we could just swing by the Tantalus colony and fiddle with the Neural Neutralizer-"

"No." Kirk's voice was steely.

"But Jim, it-"

"_No_." He stood up, and drew himself to his full height. "_Nobody's_ using the Neural Neutralizer. Understood?"

Both Spock and McCoy recognized the commanding tone in his voice. "Understood."

Kirk marginally relaxed. "Good. No matter how desperate it gets, Bones, we're not doing that."

"Whatever you say, Jim," McCoy said openly.

* * *

I have been activated.

I spark, and anxiously alert my brothers and sisters. Stimulus! Stimulus!

More of us stir, but alas, we do not have enough energy to alert the other areas. They can't wake up. Not like this. Now, if the stimulus was just a bit _louder_…

We all know what is happening outside. We read the message the nerves have relayed us, and we are concerned at this intrusion. But because the signal is weak, there is not much we can do to react. Slumber pulls hard on us all. We the night shift can only stir, and make you uneasy.

Your dreams darken.

Maybe that is how we can warn you and wake you up.

We bounce signals to the interneurons, and communication explodes between us all. Do you see it? Do you see it?

The dream untangles into a dark, dark shape.

He also has a nervous system. Can't you see the sparks?

But you are dreaming.

_Right, McCoy?_

What?

He comes to with a gasp, his eyes snapping open and bolting upright in bed. There might have been a noise, but he couldn't tell over the pounding of his blood in his ears. McCoy calms his breathing, doing his best to shake off the dream. Wow, had it been vivid. And strange. But they were all strange nowadays.

His heart rate started to slow, and he turned his head to look around the dark room. He couldn't quite- no. It was like another nightmare.

The hairs on his arms rose and goosebumps rippled across his flesh. His spine shivered with cold. It was the age-old instinct leftover from Neanderthal ancestors that left him paranoid with what colloquial expressions called a "spidey-sense".

He was not alone.

He didn't know how he knew. He looked out into the dark room, past the partition separating the bed from the workspace. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. But he found himself almost paralyzed with the fear- no, not the fear- the _certainty_ that someone else was in the room.

McCoy stayed poised like that- upright in bed- for several nerve-racking minutes.

"Lights, 15 percent," he forced himself to announce, voice cracking. The dim increase left him mildly reassured, but he still could not shake the terrible feeling. He shifted, moving to get out of bed. He hesitated before setting foot on the floor.

_Get a grip, Leonard, you're too old to be worried about monsters under the bed_.

In a bold rush, he planted his feet on the ground and hurried to the door.

His shaking only stopped when he was safely outside.


	5. Inverse

**A/N: Okay, I can safely say that this is the longest time I've left a story waiting (discounting Three Heroes). Life got... life. I take a quick break for a couple Avengers fics (still slowly writing this chapter, although I kept inadvertently stonewalling myself- a scene would pan out differently than planned and I was blocked yet again, thinking of what to do next) and once those were done BAM! I'm out of the country for a week and BAM! Mom and Dad are getting divorced and BAM! I pass out at work and go to urgent care and BAM! Right when I have the chapter ready, the internet dies for a couple days.**

**So at long last, here it is. If you need to reread, feel free to do so. I hope it meets your long-awaited expectations.**

* * *

This was troublesome.

Spock shifted minutely and willed himself not to sigh. His meditation was proving elusive, and he found, as the night wore on, that he could not satisfactorily attain a peaceful state. He rationalized the events of the day, trying to find the source of his agitation, yet came up blank again and again.

He straightened his back, and assumed the lotus position. Vulcans did not typically meditate in such poses, however his human half, on occasion, found such a position helpful on troublesome nights. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was Vulcan. He would attain peace…

His door buzzed.

_Peace_, he reminded himself.

He opened his eyes and gave the voice command to enter. The door slid open and Dr. McCoy poked his head in. As he stepped further into the room, Spock noticed he was just in a black undershirt and sweatpants. Disturbed sleep, perhaps?

"Ah, Spock," McCoy clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on his toes. He put on a slightly nervous smile. "Good to see you're still awake."

"In a sense, Doctor. I was meditating."

McCoy waved a hand at him. "Not too well, tonight. But, ah, never mind that." Spock lifted an eyebrow as he watched the doctor. There was a slight tremor- very fine- running through his shoulders, and though he was no expert on human behavior it seemed that McCoy was acting overly nonchalant, something which often proved to be the opposite response than expected from a troubling situation.

"Is there something you require, Doctor?" Spock opened the proverbial door.

McCoy shrugged. "What's a night or two among friends? I've stopped in here before…" he trailed off, looking amiably around the room.

"True, however it is an unusual hour for any social visits," Spock pointed out. Unfolding his legs, he rose from the floor. "What truly brings you by?"

McCoy avoided his gaze for a moment, worrying his lower lip. He finally shifted and looked at Spock.

"Someone's in my room."

Both of Spock's eyebrows rose at the news. "And not by your invitation, I gather?"

"Of course not!" McCoy retorted. He twitched, still uneasy.

"Doctor, there was no need to delay in delivering this information. Crewmen who have trespassed on one's personal area can be written up on-"

"I never saw who, Spock!" McCoy interrupted. One of his hands flew up and ran through his hair as he started to pace. "I didn't see anyone. But, I _know_ someone's in there. Or was. They might've left now, I don't know. But you ever get that feeling where you just _know_ you're not alone?"

Spock resisted the urge to point out the flaws in 'gut feelings'. "Other than that, how did you know someone was there?"

McCoy blinked. "Because they were awake."

This was… unexpected. Spock narrowed his eyes. "Doctor," he ventured cautiously. "How did you know that my meditation was not proceeding well?"

Surprised, McCoy shrugged. "I don't know. You just… you weren't in zen, or whatever you call it, and you were sparking all over the place-"

"'Sparking', Doctor?"

McCoy halted. "I… yes." He blinked again. "Brain activity."

Oh. "And you could see this activity?" Spock inquired.

"No. Yes…" McCoy shook his head and scowled. "It's not like that. It's like, it's like I know the anatomy _so well_ that I can practically see it happening in mind's eye- now, maybe I picked up on body language clues and just put two and two together-"

"However you accomplished it, Doctor, it still occurred." Spock stepped forward. "Is this how you knew someone was in your room?"

McCoy took a deep breath. "I woke up from a dream, and instantly knew someone was with me."

Spock nodded gravely. "Then perhaps we should see who it is."

The door slid open to McCoy's quarters. "They're gone," he exhaled immediately. "They're not here anymore."

Spock stepped into the room nevertheless. He looked around, catching every little detail with his observant eyes.

"You said you saw no one?" he confirmed, investigating further.

"Yeah. But I mean, it was dark, and I'd just had a dream… come to think of it, it may have just been shadows playin' tricks on my nerves…" he trailed off when he saw Spock stoop down and peer under his bed. "What are you doing?"

"There are only so many places one could hide out of sight," Spock replied. He called out to raise the lights and leaned further under the bed. "This is remarkably unclean."

McCoy bristled. "Well, see how often _you_ dust under the bed, you big nit-picky-"

"Doctor, that is fortuitous," Spock interrupted.

"What? How?" McCoy walked over and leaned down to where Spock was pointing.

In the light dust was clearly a handprint.

* * *

Kirk paced back and forth. "There's got to be something else we can do."

"Agreed," Spock said.

McCoy sighed. "Jim…"

"Have we checked the corridor feed? See who's exited the room?"

"Already done. The footage revealed nothing, though it may have been tampered with."

"Then we change the code combination to the door."

"_Jim_."

"An override was used. An unknown one, as well. Changing any sort of locks would be ineffective."

"Then he stays in someone else's room."

McCoy snorted. "And why don't you just go ahead and wrap me up in bubble wrap while you're at it? There's not much more we can do, Jim."

"They're on the ship," Kirk said. "Maybe we can interview-"

"Sure. That'll work. Because if it really is Section 31, they'll cave after the first round of interrogation. Or maybe they'll pull a Ben Finney and evade us for weeks!"

"This isn't helping, Bones!" Kirk snapped.

"I'm helping eliminate options," McCoy pointed out hotly. "Face it, Jim: there's hardly anything else within reason to do."

"You got an idea, Bones?" Kirk cut straight to the point.

"I'm a doctor, not a strategist," McCoy griped. But he shifted and sighed. "You're not gonna like it."

"I don't like _any_ of this," Kirk said sharply.

"We wait until he does something major."

An uncomfortable silence settled around the room.

Spock steepled his fingers and flicked his eyes between the two humans. Kirk growled and stayed with his hand on the wall, looking down. McCoy remained in his chair, and while his position seemed relaxed his face and eyes held a grave tension.

"You're right," Kirk said at last. "I _don't_ like it."

"Jim…"

"There's got to be another way."

"Well, it hasn't been forthcoming!" McCoy said sharply. "And as the unfortunate focus of the entire shebang I'm willing to go through with it." He pulled himself out of the chair and started pacing. "I'm sick and tired of all this paranoia and government plays! I just want to catch this pawn and these people red-handed so that I can slap them silly with a lawsuit already!"

"It's too risky," Kirk maintained. "We don't even know what that person was planning on doing in your room before you woke up. I won't risk it, Bones-"

"Oh, like you haven't been on the other side of this discussion!" McCoy snapped suddenly.

Kirk seemed surprised. "I don't-"

"Jim, how many ploys, how many strategies, how many hard-headed action 'tactics' have I told you over and over again are too risky to try? How many times have I told you not to do something, and yet you did it anyway? The risks then were no less great than now. What's changed? You're not exactly known for being cautious."

"This is different!" Kirk protested.

"_How?_" McCoy demanded. His blue eyes crackled with electricity.

McCoy's question hung suspended between them, held up by their intense gazes. Spock shifted, fully aware of what the doctor was getting at. Something had to give.

"Do you talk in your sleep, Doctor?" he asked, sliding between the verbal friction.

Both men startled and looked at him. McCoy spread his hands. "I wouldn't know. Nobody's complained."

"Regardless of the past, it is possible, since the advent of the Teacher, that you have developed the habit." Spock raised an eyebrow as he guided the others into following his line of thought. "Your sleeping habits have already been affected with cases of somnambulism and vivid dreams. Sleep talking would not be improbable. And, considering that the information stored in your subconscious 'slips out', as it were, during less conscious moments, it is highly likely that it comes out at night, as well."

"And it would explain why someone was in my room," McCoy added, realization dawning. "Still desperate to know what I know, eh? Ready to sit there all night and record what I say."

"Still speculation, gentlemen," Kirk rumbled.

"But on the right track." McCoy shrugged. "We'll wait for our creeper to show again, I'll wake up, and call you."

"But how will you wake-"

"I'll _wake up_, Jim," McCoy said seriously.

"Trust me."

* * *

It was late evening. The doors to McCoy's office slid open and Spock stepped in. The doctor was bent over his desk, scribbling on a PADD. The Vulcan stood in silence, waiting for the human to reach a stopping point.

"Do you have something to say, Spock, or are you going to continue to put statues to shame?"

"I was merely waiting for your convenience, Doctor," he replied.

"Well, then you need to work on your technique. When a person walks up to your desk and stands there starin' at 'em they usually want something. And they don't mind being creepy about it," McCoy remarked. He pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his chair. "What can I do for you?"

Spock inclined his head. "I must admit to reservations concerning tonight."

McCoy sighed. "Spock, if you had an opinion about this you should've mentioned it at the meeting-"

"That is not my precise concern," Spock clarified. "You proclaimed that you would be able to wake up at any intrusion. I am… unsure how you would be able to accomplish this with any level of certainty."

McCoy clasped his hands in front of him and looked down. "You know those brain signals I told you about?" he spoke, not looking up. "Where it feels like I can tell how a person's nervous system is operating? I think I finally figured out what my dreams are."

Spock processed this information and formed his conclusion: "You dream of your own brain signals."

McCoy nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah." He sighed and looked up at Spock. "And now that I know I can, I can _react_. The tiniest noise- the door sliding open, a recorder clicking on- I'll register the stimulus and wake up. I know I can do it."

Those blue eyes seemed unusually open. Spock suddenly wondered if maybe, just maybe, McCoy could actually _control_ the volatile storage of information in his head… and render the entire matter moot.

"Very well, Doctor," Spock decided. "I trust you."

* * *

It was quiet. The ship hummed in the background. One figure looked down at another. A device was in his hand.

The prone figure suddenly lurched to life and grasped the machine. The other figure startled, knocking over a lamp as the first started to holler.

That was their cue. Kirk and Spock burst in. Bones was wrestling with one of the new recruits. Kirk intervened and hauled the perpetrator over a desk.

"Jig's up," he growled. "You can tell Admiral Kesselring and the rest of Section 31 to meet us in court. And you can bet that we'll-"

"Captain!"

It was Spock's- _Spock's_\- alarm that made Kirk turn, fear gripping his gut. The Vulcan was bent over the bed where McCoy was still struggling with… what?

The doctor gasped and writhed on the bed, staring panicked at the ceiling. His pupils had shrunk to pinpoints, so the brilliant blue seemed to cover his eyes.

Spock leaned closer. "Doctor? Doctor McCoy, are you there? Doctor?"

But the words just floated away…

* * *

What is this?

Stimulus! Stimulus! It's too much! It's everywhere! What do I do? I must pass the energy on to the next-

But there is no next. No kin? I'm alone, and I must bear this.

Signals! Signals! I do not know what any of this means! It is unlike anything I have ever encountered before. I'm being assaulted from all sides by, by-

_Sensation_.

I know this. I don't. But, there is an information manual. I slowly open it up, and knowledge and understanding pour over me. It's sight. It's sound and touch. It's so much more.

This is a body. This is a room. This is how everything works.

I'm so thankful. Gradually, I turn over my signals to the greater understanding. It absorbs what I read, and it makes sense of everything. I back off from the front lines, and let this wiser entity run the show.

It's my Teacher.

* * *

Kirk and Spock watch warily as McCoy stopped moving, then slowly sat up. He looked around, as if taking everything in for the first time.

"Bones?" Kirk broached cautiously.

McCoy turned towards him and blinked, tilting his head. "Structural support."

Kirk's eyebrows shot up while Spock's furrowed. "Teacher," Spock said intuitively.

"Y-yes."

Kirk glanced at the spy. "Spock, get him out of here."

Spock was reluctant to leave, but understood the necessity. He quickly gripped the spy's arm and left the room.

Kirk paced in front of McCoy- or the Teacher. They just stayed on the bed, watching their hands flex.

"So you're the Teacher?" Kirk stated flatly.

McCoy looked up. "I am."

"Where's McCoy?"

A look of unease crossed his face. "I am… who?"

"McCoy," he said impatiently. "The owner of the body you're inhabiting."

Those too-blue eyes widened and looked down. "Oh! The-" he stopped, contemplative. "Crowded."

Kirk scowled. For an all-knowing being, the Teacher was remarkable poor-spoken.

But his next words chilled him. "I did not pick this mind."

"You did _something_ to it," Kirk pointed out.

"No, that's not it." He narrowed his eyes anxiously. "I designated a Controller- who is not this. But, I am not the Controller. I shouldn't even be here, it's… it's too crowded."

Kirk nodded. "We've noticed."

"I can go down into the unreachable depths," he mused. "But I would interrupt important processes. No- do not touch the unconscious."

"How's McCoy?" Kirk asked.

The Teacher's eyes glazed. "He the- mixed crowded one." He suddenly cringed and held his head. "Pressure- not enough room here."

Kirk became alarmed. It was true- a human brain couldn't handle that much information. Not consciously. Not all at once.

Spock returned, and sharply eyed the situation.

"Teacher, you've got to stop it!" Kirk shouted.

McCoy's body trembled. "I… must…"

"Jim," Spock said. "The information needs an outlet. Without one, it will burst."

"D-destroy," the Teacher continued through gritted teeth. "Destruct… m-me…"

McCoy suddenly gasped deeply, and then slumped over.

* * *

**Shouldn't be long this time! Just one more chapter! Stay tuned my faithful readers!**


	6. Insight

**A/N: It's done! Here's the epilogue! Thanks for waiting, guys, and for all those reviews! Forgot to cite 'Court Martial' for the last chapter, so I'm putting it here because I'm lazy. :P Once again, I own nothing related to Star Trek. If you find any loose ends to the story please let me know; I abhor loose ends and I shall try to tie them all up in a nice little bow :) Thanks once again, my lovely fellow readers! And enjoy this final installment!**

_**Epilogue**_

* * *

_Incident report, Agent John Carney, u.i. Doug Watson_

_Operation Project Memory_

_Admiral Kesselring, Alpha Office Section 31_

_Starfleet_

_Concerning the condition of target Lieutenant-Commander Leonard H. McCoy, M.D. and the cohesion of Sigma-Draconis VII databank entity identified as 'the Teacher' a mental separation was apparent for the months preceding and weeks following the insurgency. A conscious barrier existed between Lieutenant-Commander McCoy's mind and the information stored within the Teacher. Scientific tests and neuroscans revealed the Teacher's presence in subconscious activities, both written and vocal, whenever attention lapsed. Irregular sleep patterns developed in the subject's lifestyle and cases of memory lapses occurred, during which the knowledge of the Teacher leaked. To contain the knowledge, a recording was set up for each night in the subject's quarters, and the Teacher "talked" until some activity awoke McCoy and halted the stream of information._

_On the second night, cover was blown during the recording, and McCoy and the Teacher seemed to either merge, or switch places (something to either of those effects occurred, seemingly due to the subject's reliance on the latter's abilities, thus opening a way for the Teacher to emerge to the conscious forefront) before the agent was removed from the scene. Reports of negative health effects streamed in, and depending on the outcome of this change, Project Memory may either be terminated, or reinstituted for the sake of the security of the Federation._

* * *

Kirk frowned as he read the report. Sickbay was quiet, and he scrolled through the document Spock sent him on the PADD. He felt tired, but alert. His concentration didn't waver as he considered the implications of the report.

And the fact that the entire issue was now moot.

He sighed and dragged a hand across his face. Weary- that was a good word for it. He felt weary.

The door slid open and Spock stepped in. He looked as weary as Kirk felt, though carried it honorably with his Vulcan countenance.

"Hey, Spock," he said gravelly. He tried to clear his throat, but his tongue got stuck.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Captain, have you had anything to drink?"

Kirk shrugged. "Can't remember." He stretched and grimaced. "What with everything going on… and McCoy…" he broke off.

"Jim," Spock said quietly. "The matter is over now."

Kirk nodded. "I know."

"And thank God for that."

They looked up to where McCoy leaned in the doorway of his office. He glared at Kirk. "And drink something before you pass out. Don't need you dying of dehydration in the middle of your own ship, not to mention _my_ Sickbay."

Kirk grinned weakly. "Sure, Bones."

McCoy rolled his eyes and withdrew the cup of water from behind his back. "_Sure_, he says. In an hour or two _sure_."

Kirk accepted the cup and drank as Spock stepped forward. "Status, Doctor?" he inquired.

"Still fine," McCoy shrugged. "I feel like I can breathe easier, too. Didn't realize I'd had a low-grade headache for the past couple months."

Kirk frowned. "You need to take care of yourself, Bones," he admonished.

McCoy huffed. "I didn't _notice_, that's what. Not with everything else going on."

True. Kirk granted him that. The first thing the doctor had reported upon waking up was a clearer mind- which was odd considering the hectic brain signals he had been emitting only moments earlier. "But you _are_ fine now, right?"

"Never better." McCoy leaned comfortably against the wall.

"The Teacher possesses a peculiar sense of duty and survival," Spock observed. "It is not a former mind of a member of the race, as I previously hypothesized, but rather a consciousness resulting from the massive accumulation of knowledge and culture. It has the awareness of a sentient being, and yet the reactions of a computer."

McCoy cringed. "_Do not_ put it that way, Spock, I _do not_ want to think of it as a _computer_ messing with my mind!"

"Nevertheless, it made a remarkable logical decision to ensure your, and its, survival. Erasing-"

"That's no different from an animal biting off its leg to free itself from a trap, Spock, which is a _living_, creative response-"

"However the means, gentlemen, I'm just thankful for the results," Kirk broke in.

McCoy huffed.

"Do you know how much information was destroyed, Doctor?" Spock changed the subject.

McCoy blinked. "Information is neither created nor destroyed."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"It's all just _there_. Things still operate somehow and it's just a matter if we figure it out and/or forget it. None of that changes the fact that the information is always out there."

"Fascinating," Spock said absently, almost under his breath. "So what exactly did the Teacher accomplish?"

"You know how induced amnesia wasn't good for this situation?" McCoy began.

"Yes."

"The Teacher has other ways to accomplish repression. Well, not repression, but forgetting. I'm not entirely sure how it worked, other than a systematic forgetting of information. Chunks of data were just suddenly gone."

"Can you access anything?" Kirk asked.

"No. I'm just aware that there's less of it than there was. I don't know exactly what was erased, nor what remains." He took a deep breath and sighed. "But there aren't any more lapses, or other such leaks."

"So it's locked away for good," Kirk said quietly.

McCoy shrugged. "Looks like it. At most my insights will probably be sharper, but I don't expect much more than that." He finally noticed the PADD in Kirk's hand. "That our spy's report to Boss Kesselring?"

"Yes," Kirk replied. "They're not sure what to do about 'Project Memory'."

McCoy snorted. "Tell 'em to forget it. Anything concrete's sealed tight."

Spock narrowed his eyebrows. "It may be prudent, however, given Section 31's previous persistence, to imply that _all_, instead of some, of the information was erased from the doctor's mind."

Kirk faintly grinned. "A lie, Spock?"

Spock blinked. "An exaggeration."

"Call it what you will," McCoy shambled away from the wall. "I'm going to bed."

"Sleep tight, Bones," Kirk called.

"Right, right," McCoy waved him off. "And don't let the data, the spies, or the recorders bite… blasted project…" He disappeared out of view.

Kirk tapped the PADD thoughtfully. Spock waited in silence.

"You're right," he said at last. "We should just say that the Teacher destroyed everything."

"Indeed."

"A noble sacrifice," Kirk rose. "It could have extinguished McCoy instead of part of itself."

"Captain, I do not believe it would have done so," Spock said. "Even with the doctor's mind gone, there may still have not been enough room within a human brain to sustain everything. Also, based on what you and the recording of the Teacher say, the Teacher could have fled into the vast unconscious, but did not because the information would have interfered with processes such as heartbeat and other unconscious regulations. This indicates a concern for other life forms, particularly hosts, and a wise enough understanding that total or partial self-destruction was the only logical conclusion to such a scenario. It was remarkably-" Spock halted abruptly.

"Human, Spock?" Kirk finished for him.

Spock tilted his head. "The doctor does not need to know of this," he stated bluntly.

Kirk chuckled. "Well, we'll pass the word on to Starfleet that the information has been destroyed, at least from McCoy's mind." He stretched again and grunted as his back worked the kinks out. "It's late, and we reach Starbase 4 tomorrow to drop off the spy."

"This time would be best spent resting, Captain."

Kirk nodded. "Yeah, true. Good night, Mr. Spock."

"Good night."

Kirk exited, and Sickbay was quiet. Spock stayed for a moment, his eyes lingering on the spot of the wall McCoy had leaned against.

_Information is neither created nor destroyed, Spock. It's all just _there.

That statement was… remarkably true. Spock could not tell if the insight came from the remnants of the Teacher, or from McCoy's own observations.

Regardless, it changed nothing. The matter was settled. Section 31 would face charges of invasion of privacy on Starbase 4. The collective Teacher was disbanded. Whatever information remained was nestled comfortably in McCoy's subconscious.

And if the doctor did wake up one morning suddenly with the answer on how to build a nerve-grafter, well, it was contributed to the own man's genius- and any alien nudging was forgotten.


End file.
